


And Can You Teach Me How To Dance Real Slow?

by reagancrew



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Prompt Fic, Slow Dancing, semi crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reagancrew/pseuds/reagancrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kathyisweird over on tumblr prompted: Rizzles, slow dancing, jukebox. She let me pick the song. Yes, I really do have them dance to Don McLean's 'American Pie.' No, this is, unfortunately, not real life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Can You Teach Me How To Dance Real Slow?

In the morning, Jane is quite happy to blame the whole embarrassing event on the alcohol. She’d had – what? – Five beers. Maybe a shot or two thrown in there in the middle? So, that part is kind of fuzzy. But whatever, it was definitely, totally, the alcohol’s fault.

*****

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shitttt!”

“Jane, you’re cutting the circulation off to my wrist.”

“Sorry, Maur, but shit shit shiiii-YES! Take that, Detroit. 3-1. Fuck yes!” Jane finally releases her friend’s arm to exchange hearty high fives with Frost and Frankie across the table. Meanwhile, Maura is gently massaging feeling back into her tortured limb, and grinning down at the tabletop. Jane has had three beers and a single shot of Jack Daniels.

“Heck yes, Maur. Did you see that?” Shining brown eyes meet hazel, and Jane’s hand squeezes Maura’s knee under tabletop. The Bruins are playing, and the Detective is not on call, which means she’s sitting beside Maura in their booth at the Dirty Robber, and is feeling remarkably affectionate.

“I saw, Jane.”

“Two minutes to go,” Frankie mutters, taking a swig from his own beer. He and Frost knock on the wood simultaneously.

***** 

Maura’s hand is pins and needles by the time the final buzzer sounds. She cannot keep from grinning, even as Jane swats Frost across the table. “Twenty bucks, Frosty boy!” she crows. “Pay up.”

“Alright, alright,” Frost mutters, pulling out his wallet. He counts out the bills. “I’ve only got eighteen. But here,” he rifles some more and slaps eight quarters down. “Twenty!”

Jane rolls her eyes while pocketing the cash, “This round’s on Frost.” She slides the change into one palm. “Another cabernet, Maur?” she asks, nodding towards the Doctor’s empty glass.

“Mm, no,” Maura murmurs. “I’m driving tonight.”

“Take a cab,” Jane suggests.

“I’m driving you, Jane,” Maura points out. “Last time we took a cab, the driver nearly threw us out because you insulted the Yankees and he was from New York.”

“What self-respecting Yankee fan moves to Boston?” Jane mutters in response. “And then _admits_ it?”

Frankie and Frost laugh, while Maura, in a decidedly out of character move, shrugs.

“Well, come up with me anyway,” Jane orders, pushing at Maura’s hip to get her to slide out of the booth. “Since Frost is a _child,_ we’ve eight songs to choose on the jukebox.”

“Just don’t pull that shit with ‘What’s New Pussycat?’ again,” Frankie calls after them.

“I pull that prank _once,_ ” Jane grumbles, one hand finding the small of Maura’s back. “You’d think their ears were bleeding.”

“You did play it ten times in a row,” Maura points out helpfully, allowing Jane to pull her to the side as one Officer Mulligan, quite inebriated stumbles away from the bar and directly towards the two of them.

“Watch it,” Jane growls at him, and he holds his hands up in apology. “Not in a row, Maura,” Jane turns her attention back to the Medical Examiner. “Get your facts straight. I threw a ‘It’s Not Unusual’ in the middle.” She waggles her eyebrows, and Maura stifles a smile. It doesn’t do to give Jane more of an excuse to preen.

“My mistake,” Maura acquiesces gracefully.

“Paulie!” Jane raps on the bar, and, when the bartender looks over, holds up three slender fingers. He nods, and then Jane is pulling Maura over to the corner where the jukebox, glowing green and red and clearly well-loved, awaits.

Jane slides the quarters one after another into the slot, and begins browsing the song choices. “Beach Boys?” She asks, and Maura shakes her head no. “Elton John?” Another no. “Fine, you pick,” she grabs Maura’s hand and pulls her in front of her. Maura tries to stifle a gasp as Jane’s front settles snuggly along her back, and the Detective rests a chin on Maura’s shoulder.

Maura makes her selections quickly, not even really aware of what she’s chosen.

“American Pie, Maura? Really?” Jane questions.

Maura shrugs again, a remarkable new habit, and turns to gather to Jane’s waiting drinks. Except the Detective hasn’t moved so they are, quite suddenly face-to-face. Kissing distance, Jane’s semi-intoxicated brain offers. She flushes, and is suddenly unsure whether or not Maura’s been staring at her lips the whole time. Taking a deep breath, Jane removes herself from the Doctor’s space. “Well,” she grumbles. “I won’t dance to that one.”

“You don’t dance at all, Jane. Whenever we go out, you refuse and I’m forced to dance by myself.” Maura, Jane thinks, is unfailingly unflappable, which is totally, totally unfair.

*****

When they return to the booth, drinks in hand, Frost and Frankie are arguing the strengths and weaknesses of Chicago’s offense, in preparation for Wednesday’s impending game.

“Children!” Jane announces, “We come bearing gifts.” She waits, allowing Maura to slip into the booth first this time, before plopping ungainly down onto the bench. “Annnnd, Doctor Isles has kindly selected the soundtrack for the next twenty-five minutes. So, don’t get too excited.”

Maura offers a half-smile when Frankie leans over to punch his sister on the shoulder.

“I like Maura’s music,” he responds. “So, shove it, Janie. We can’t all be secretly in love with John Mellencamp.”

Jane groans, throwing back a long sip of beer before pointing the bottle at her little brother. “Ma used to listen to that album on repeat. It’s not my fault I memorized all the words. They’re scarred onto my brain forever.” She rests her head on Maura’s shoulder, wild curls hiding her face.

Maura allows herself to reach up and pat Jane’s cheek consolingly. By the time the sixth song comes on, Jane has finished her beer, and is locked in an epic thumb war with Frost. In a fit of what Maura can only describe as utter devotion, the Doctor has chosen Tom Jones’ ‘What’s New Pussycat?,’ and while Frost and Frankie let out loud groans of protest, Jane pumps her fist in the air in delight.

“Maura,” she says seriously, turning to face the Doctor. In the low light of the bar, Maura’s hazel eyes shine. “You are the best friend ever. Seriously. Don’t ever let me tell you differently.”

Maura ought to respond lightly, but instead, she murmurs softly, “Alright.”

Jane’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “And, just for that, I’ll even dance with you.”

“Right now?” Maura questions, glancing around. The cop bar isn’t really a dancing sort of establishment.

“Sure,” Jane jumps up, swaying only a small amount. She holds out a hand, “Let’s dance, Doctor Isles.”

***** 

Jane is tall and gangly and completely off the beat as she bobs her head and taps her feet. Her ‘dancing’ is remarkably stationary, Maura thinks. They make it through the rest of the dreaded Tom Jones, and then through ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ before Maura’s eighth and final pick – the eight minute ‘American Pie’ – makes its dreaded appearance.

Maura moves to return to the booth, aware of the cops’ eyes that have been snatching curious glances at the two of them. “Wait,” Jane says, reaching out to catch Maura’s arm. Her momentum causes the other woman to spin slightly, ending up pressed against Jane.

The detective doesn’t hesitate, and snakes an arm around Maura’s waist, pulling Maura even closer. “Jane,” Maura whispers.

“Shhh,” Jane responds, eyes closed. Maura is warm against her, and soft, and Jane’s head feels fuzzy and heavy. She twines her fingers of her free hand around Maura’s and begins to twirl them slowly, in the corner by the jukebox.

“Jane,” Maura whispers again. “This isn’t exactly a slow-dancing song.”

“We’re waltzing, Maur,” Jane responds easily. “Besides, you picked it.”

“This is not waltzing,” Maura rebuts. “If you’d like, I could teach you a proper waltz, but this,” Jane opens her eyes lazily to see Maura glance over at their joined hands while wearing what Jane has silently dubbed her ‘thinking-face,’ “This is spinning in place.”

“Mmkay, well my head’s kinda spinning, too, Maur. So maybe I’m just trying to get the revolutions linked up.”

“Rotation,” Maura corrects automatically. “Revolution would be going around something. Rotation is spinning on an axis.”

“Google mouth,” Jane answers easily, continuing to turn them. Maura smells like honeysuckle and wine.

They don’t speak after that, and by the time the song finally fades out, the entire bar has joined in to the chorus except for the two of them, dancing in the corner. “Let’s go home, Maur,” Jane says when a new track starts up. “I’m beat.”

“And intoxicated,” Maura offers helpfully, pressing a hand to her chest to stifle the flutter at the word ‘home’ tossed so casually out into the air.

“Yes, that, too,” the off-duty Detective chuckles. “Want to stay over at my place?” Jane offers over her shoulder, as she turns to exit the bar, making a pit stop at the booth to collect Maura’s purse and wish Frost and Frankie a good night.

“Bass,” Maura argues, waving to the men, and following Jane towards the front door.

Jane waves a hand. “I know you fed him when you went home to change. He’ll be fine. It’s late,” she opens the front door, waiting as Maura steps through first, heels clacking on the sidewalk. “I’m going to be remarkably hung over in the morning. If you stay, you can lecture me all you want. Shove aspirin down my throat and explain how a nice long run would just do absolute _wonders_ for my well-being.”

“Contrary to what you may think, Jane, I do not particularly enjoy our morning runs after we’ve been drinking, either. You are not a morning person on your best days, and tomorrow, I feel fairly confident in predicting, will not be one of your best days.”

Jane lets out a hearty laugh, and slips a hand into Maura’s. “Stay over,” she tugs. “Pleaseeee.”

“Don’t pout,” Maura reprimands her easily.

“You’ve got like eight different outfits and pairs of pajamas at my place,” Jane continues to press her point. “In fact, I think you may take up more of my closet than I do.”

Maura, in the middle of opening the passenger door for her friend, feels a blush rise in her cheeks.

“Hey,” Jane’s voice comes out softer, a little slurred from the alcohol, but sincere. “I don’t mind it. I know you cleared out a drawer for me last week at your place.”

“Isn’t it a bit…strange,” Maura begins before she has time to censor herself. “I mean, do best friends normally share so much of their individual living spaces with one another?” She is staring down at her feet.

“Maybe,” Jane is the one to shrug this time. “But neither one of us is ‘normal.’” If she were a bit more coordinated at the moment, she’d have made the air quotes around the word. “I love you, Maur. You love me. We’re best friends. What does it matter if you’ve left an entire pile of Jimmy Choos at my place?” It’s a rhetorical question, and Maura would argue the use of the world ‘pile,’ as her shoes are always stacked neatly, but Jane’s used that word, the ‘l’ word, the one neither one of them simply tosses around, and her tongue is suddenly stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Jane, seemingly unaware of her friend’s sudden silence, lets go of Maura’s hand, and sinks gratefully down into the car. “Let’s go home, Maur. Jo’s gotta be dying by now.”

“Alright,” but it comes out as nothing more than a whisper, and Maura moves mechanically to the driver’s side of the vehicle. 

*****

In the morning, Jane’s head is killing her. Maura is remarkably chipper, perhaps questionably so, and does, indeed drag Jane out the door for a brisk ten miles at a completely indecent time. They’re on mile three when certain events of the night come speeding back. Holding hands. She’s pretty sure she said she loved Maura. Like as friends. And, it’s definitely totally true. And it’s definitely, totally not a big deal or anything; she’s said it before. But, she’d said she loved Maura, and that Maura loved her, too, like duhh. And Maura hadn’t responded. Jane clearly remembers Maura not responding. Shit. Also, the holding hands thing. And, “Hey, Maur?” she pants.

“Hmmm?” The freakishly chipper Doctor has not slowed her pace one bit since they started out. Jane is dragging hard.

“Did we slow dance to ‘American Pie,’ last night?”

Jane is staring determinedly ahead, but she catches Maura’s smile out of the corner of her eye.

“You said we were waltzing,” Maura corrects, not even trying to hide her grin.

***** 

Shit. Holding hands, love and dancing?! In front of everyone at the bar! With Maura! (Warm, sweet, iron-spined Maura). Jane lengthens her stride and groans internally, still not daring to look over at the other woman. Definitely, totally, altogether the alcohol’s fault. She’s never drinking again.


End file.
